


Not All Adventures Are Great

by CavannaRose



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: A lament to what could have been, Based On a D&D Game, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Elves, Gen, Half-Elves, One Shot, We did not make it, unsuccessful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: The City of Aeranath is the last bastion of a crumbled society. Every creature, big or small, wishes entry through its mighty gates. However, not every adventure is successful.





	Not All Adventures Are Great

**Author's Note:**

> My adventuring party tried so hard, but we failed to survive even meeting the first objective in our campaign. Here's my little story telling the tale, at least from the perspective of my character. Some license has been taken with actually events due to my memory being faulty and my notes non existent.

Ohtacáro was the firstborn child of Lord Telumehtar and his wife, the fair Lady Lindissë. Lord Telumehtar in particular had high hopes for his offspring, with visions of a warrior dynasty stretching far into the distant future. It became clear very early, however, that the child was not destined to become the son that Lord Telumehtar so strongly desired. Though the Lady Lindissë tried her best to nurture the traits her husband longed to see in his child, her efforts were in vain. They were small, their slender build clearly taking after their mother. Their skin, though glowing with good health, was fair, and the crowning beauty of the child were the long golden tresses that fell around their face, tresses they would not permit anyone to cut. On the morning of the young elf’s fourth birthday, Lord Telumehtar rode out to the edge of his lands, and stirring great magics best left untouched, he opened a door into the Shadowfell, where he cast his only offspring inside. To him it was better to have no child, than to have one such as this gentle infant was becoming.

Within the Shadowfell, the toddler, all shining and golden-haired, was taken in by a Shadar-kai assassin named Hakatri. Touched by the child’s gentle nature, he raised the small high elf as his own, though their races were intrinsically different in nearly every way. At first confused, the child soon grew attached to their new guardian. Hakatri was warm and accepting where the parents that had borne the young elf had been distant and judgemental. With help, they chose for themselves a new name Vórëa Effírië, which felt more comfortable than their birth name, soon forgotten. At first, Hakatri attempted to teach his young ward the ways of the assassins, but after a few years of trying, it was clear that their talents lay elsewhere. The passage into the Shadowfell had altered the toddler, and as they aged, the brightness and glow of their high elven heritage seemed to pale. Skin already fair took on the pallor of the dead, golden hair faded to a silvery near-white colour, and strange magics began to manifest. When the child was old enough to understand the nature of their relationship, they asked Hakatri if he would consider taking them as his daughter in truth. The fierce killer was truly touched, and the pair drew even closer.

When Vórëa was nearing one hundred years of age, Hakatri set off on a mission, and failed to return. Though she waited for many months, her adoptive father did not appear. Convinced that he was not dead she set out, with only her magic to guide her. She wandered the Shadowfell for decades, following hints and clues as to the location of the man she loved with a child’s heart. Eventually, her search led her outside of the Shadowfell, back into the lands from whence she had been cast as an infant. As she journeyed across these strange new lands, she found that the inhabitants looked upon her with distrust, and often confusion or fear. She was no longer like those she had been born to, with her faded, unblinking eyes, and those outside the Shadowfell had little experience with Hakatri’s people.

Eventually she found herself in the company of Shadar-kai once more, though they were fierce and focused compared to her beloved Hakatri. Afraid to reveal too much, she stayed on the edges of society in general, eventually befriending the young thief, Adrielle. Though age, temperament, and life experience separated the pair, something about the wound that Adrielle bore called to Vórëa. In turn, Adrielle did not seem off-put by Vórëa’s strange demeanor and mannerisms, or her seldom-beating heart. The pair, both chasing wildly different rumours and clues, oftentimes found themselves on the same path, a path that eventual had them both turning their eyes to the City.

At the gates of the City, a great line had formed. People pushing and jockeying for position, there to make their case as to why they, as opposed to others, should be permitted entrance. Aeranath stood, the last bastion of civilization in a dying world. Vórëa had seen it all, in her desperate search for Hakatri. She had seen the Great Nations rise, she had seen the Old Ones flee to other planes of existence, and she had seen the Nations fall again. None of it had sparked her interest, for her focus was finite. Find Hakatri. Patiently she took her place in the line, wrapped in her own thoughts.

Up ahead, a hue and cry was raised. A man in finely wrought robes placed his hands on the elven guard that was hearing the entry petitions that day. Stepping back, he severed the man’s head from his shoulders with a fluid motion, the blood spurting out to decorate his fine black armor. Vórëa watched with interest as two guards stepped forward, dragging the corpse to one side. A small giggle escaped her lips, pale eyes focused on the body with something akin to longing. On either side of her, people shuffled aside, widening the space around her.

The next to step forward was a slim half-elven man, dressed in lush green fabrics and black leathers. He spoke of a plot against the City, offering a location to the Captain of the Guard in exchange for entrance. Vórëa lost interest as they exchanged words, but a moment later the sounds of blades unsheathing brought her interest forward again. She watched two guards perform a quick exchange of blows, and then the half-elf was beckoned forward. His demeanor cocky, he stepped forward, blade in one hand. Raising his other hand to his lips, he whispered a word that Vórëa could not hear and then blew across his fingertips. A burst of flame spread out from his hand, wrapping around the one guard, who shrieked in pain.

Once more the half-elf turned to the Guard Captain, bowing with a flourish. Another exchange of words occurred, and the whole situation lost Vórëa’s interest. Instead she went up on tiptoe, trying to get a better look at the body of the finely dressed man. She placed a cold hand on the nearest person’s arm, trying to push herself up higher, but they shook her off, horrified, and backed away. Now there was at least three feet between her and any of the other persons waiting, but she did not mind. She could watch as the corpse slowly stiffened, the blood that had pooled around it congealing.

Several more people went up, only to be sent away when their attempts at persuasion failed. Whatever elusive criteria the black-armored elf had for entry, it was more than they could meet. A young tiefling girl and a grey-skinned elf with hair as black as shadows moved up to the Guard Captain. For a moment they caught Vórëa’s attention. She had spent much time with the Shadar-kai, and could usually spot them in a crowd. Squinting her strange pale eyes, she examined the individual, a small smile playing on her lips. Adrielle was here. What a happy coincidence. Adrielle and her tiefling companion were waved aside to stand with the half elf, and Vórëa noted that his long black hair lacked the darkness of her friends’, being more grey than ebony. Idly she wondered what his elven half might be, but ultimately it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but locating Hakatri.

When Vórëa’s turn came, it took the Captain of the Guard a moment to catch her attention, a situation that clearly did his patience level no favours. With a soft smile, she lifted her skirts and moved forward. “What reason do you bring that we should allow you entrance to Aeranath, the Great City?”

Looking over her shoulder and seeing her friend, Vórëa smiled, ignoring the rude man for a moment. “Adrielle! Hello! Hi Adrielle!” With a surprisingly affectionate smile, Adrielle waved back. The shadow-touched elf returned her focus to the irate elven man barring her entrance to the City. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

The Guard Captain looked affronted. “Pardon me? You cannot be serious! Why should I let you into the City?”

“Oh.” Vórëa responded with a gentle smile. “I am here to find my Daddy. He’s inside the City you see. At least, that’s where my sources said he would be. They’re very good sources, at least I think they are. I haven’t really tested them out, but if he is in the City then that will prove that they are actually quite good sources you see. I don’t intend to stay. Once I find him, we can return home. Really, you won’t have to worry about me long, and when I find him I’ll be opening up a spot for another of these nice people since both of us will be leaving.” She met his eyes with her own, unblinking stare.

The Captain of the Guard spluttered for a moment, discombobulated by the strange elf woman. He broke the eye contact, looking determinately over her head. “That’s not how it works. If we let people in and out of Aeranath, it would be easy for insurrectionists and troublemakers to infiltrate. Once you’re inside, you cannot leave. Now if you could just turn around and leave, I think we’re done here.”

“If he wasn’t allowed back out, that would explain why Daddy never came home. I best go inside and be with him. You should really let me in. I need him, you see.” Vórëa stepped forward, and though the elven man flinched, he did not move backwards.

“If you wish entrance, you must impress me. Show me how useful you can be.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Show me how you would make Aeranath stronger.”

Understanding dawned slowly across her face. “Do you have a particular target in mind, like with the others?”

“No.”

Vórëa thought for a moment, and then let out another high giggle. Reaching into her small pouch, she pulled out an egg. Rolling it in her palm, whispering to it in a grating, caustic language. “Mor…” People behind her stepped back as the foul tongue left the mouth of the pale elf in the pale pink dress. With another high pitched giggle, an unsettling counterpart to the rumbling language, she crushed the egg between her palms. Immediately the foul stench of rotten eggs permeated the area. Threads of yellow fog emerged, spreading around them. Soon a sphere formed around a 20 foot radius of Vórëa, causing people to cough and choke. People stumbled away, some dropping to their knees and crawling to avoid the noxious cloud.

“Enough! Can you send it away?” With a flick of her wrist, Vórëa dismissed the spell, standing sedately where she had been when it began. With those strange, unblinking eyes never leaving the face of the Guard Captain, she raised her hand and licked the remains of the egg from her hand, making a small hum of satisfaction. “Exactly _how_ do you think that will be useful to Aeranath?”

“If you can’t see the usefulness of something like that, it’s clear that the City is in worse condition than I thought.” The half-elven man leaned against the wall, interested eyes on Vórëa. “It could provide cover, break an enemy’s invisibility. If she has more tricks like that up her sleeve, I’d be happy to fight beside her.”

Adrielle gave Vórëa an encouraging smile. “Her magic is quite good. Very useful in a tight corner.”

“Adrielle is my best friend in the whole world. Actually, she might be my only friend in the whole world.” Vórëa frowned, furrowing her brows and running her fingertips lightly over her components pouch, before smiling broadly. “She is my only friend! Isn’t that funny. I’ve never really seen her with another friend though, so maybe I’m her only friend too.”

“Are you two vouching for her then?” The Captain of the Guard raised an inquiring eyebrow, and both the elf and the half-elf nodded. “Fine. Go stand over with them.” With her gentle smile on her face, Vórëa glided over to the others, all the grace of a dancer in her movements making it seem almost like she floated. The half-elven man stared intently at her feet for a moment, and then shook his head.

As the black-armored elf continued to interview the crowd, Vórëa turned to smile at Adrielle once more. “Have you found your twin yet? Do you think she is within the City? I think I finally found Hakatri. If he got stuck inside the City, that would explain why he never came back for me. He always came back for me before, after all.” The harsh-featured Shadar-kai let out a small laugh, taking Vórëa’s hand and squeezing it gently just as another hue and cry went up around the Guard Captain.

A man in a blue cloak and fine armor was attacking him, though three more guards were moving in to intervene. The black-armored elf was kneeling, having been knocked down by a blow. Immediately the half-elven man threw a dagger, though it appeared to go wide, lodging in the arm of a guard. Adrielle quickly followed suit, throwing a dagger of her own. The blue-cloaked man raised a shield, catching the dagger in the wood, eliciting a growl from Adrielle.

Calm in the centre of the chaos, Vórëa ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, pulling a flea from within the locks. “Thar.” She whispered over it, again in the bone-grating language of the Aboleths. Crushing it between her fingers, she flicked the remains at the man in the blue cape. Immediately a swarm of fleas and biting midges formed around him, crawling through the cracks in his armor, biting at him. He moved, trying to free himself of the swarm, forcing him directly between the Captain of the Guard and his three men. They formed a kill box around the offender, each of them taking a swing, felling him with their swords. Vórëa clapped her hands in amusement. “Did you see, Adrielle? I got him!”

The half-elven man went to the Guard Captain, speaking softly to him as he did so, before being ushered back to their group. “No one else will be considered today.” The black-armored elf announced. He turned to the assembled quartet. “The four of you, follow me. I think we may have a use for you.” He focused on the half-elf in particular. “And you have a map to draw me.”

The four followed the Captain of the Guard through the massive gates into the outer courtyard of the City. Several buildings filled the ring between the Outer Wall and the Inner Wall. Vórëa was less concerned with that, than with blatantly staring at the young halfling. Was that Adrielle’s new best friend? It was the first other person that she’d ever seen cozy up to her friend. The little thing was shaking, either with excitement or fear, but whenever she caught Vórëa’s unblinking stare, her eyes would go wide and she would squeeze closer to Adrielle. That was… interesting. She was focused so hard, that when her heart chose that moment to beat, it startled her and she giggled. When four sets of eyes, ranging from curious to scared, sought her out, she shrugged. “My heart beat, it startled me.”

Adrielle rolled her eyes. “There you go again, bragging about your heart beating.”

Vórëa paused, and then remembered. “By the wings of the goddess, Adrielle! I forgot. I’m so sorry, that was very thoughtless of me. I am usually so good about it, but I was surprised and it made me laugh, and then everyone was looking and…”

“Relax, Vórëa. I was kidding.” The reason Adrielle was here, chasing down her twin, was because Adrienna had literally cut her heart from her chest, leaving an icy crystal behind, a crystal that never beat. It hadn’t killed her, which said something for sisterly affection, but it had been deeply unkind. They were all connected to the Shadowfell in their own ways, and though Adrienna’s magics had been very similar to Vórëa’s, the two had never hit it off. For a necromancer, Adrienna had been too… hot. Too alive for Vórëa.

Not Adrielle. Her friend was cold as the grave. Adrienna had called her uncaring, but Vórëa knew differently. Even the dead had feelings, they were just muted. Softer. Colder. Like the pastels Vórëa wore. The real world was too vibrant, compared to the endless dark of the Shadowfell. She missed her adopted home. She missed the cold comfort of the dead who waited in the Raven Queen’s realm. Though neither Adrielle nor Vórëa gave much thought to gods, when one dwelled in their home you couldn’t avoid them entirely. The Patron of Winter did not demand worship from those that lived in her home, though. Vórëa liked her for that.

The Guard Captain opened a door, interrupting her train of thought, and ushered the four of them into a building. Turning down a long hallway, he opened a second door into an office. Four chairs sat in front of a desk, which he took a seat behind and gestured to the chairs. “Sit.” Vórëa took several minutes to get situated, crossing her ankles demurely, settling her skirts so that not even her toes showed, draping the flowing sleeves of her gown over the arms, and then she smiled around at everyone who seemed to be watching her. Shaking his head, the half-elf threw himself down into the chair beside her, the tiefling sat as far from Vórëa as she could get, and Adrielle stood near the door, seemingly unwilling to sit.

The black-armored elf passed a parchment and quill across to the half-elf. “While you draw the map, I will need names from all of you. For my records.”

“Vórëa Effírië.” She offered, holding out her hand, palm down, to the Captain of the Guard, who did not take it immediately.

“Tyrcras.” Shrugged the half-elf, accepting the implements, getting to work sketching out a map. The Captain still did not take her hand.

“Le-Lerissa.” Stuttered out the tiefling, looking like she would rather be anywhere but there. Still, the Captain did not take her hand.

“Adrielle.” Her friend watched as Vórëa politely continued holding out her hand, years of training holding it perfectly still, no sign of strain on her features.

The half-elf, Tyrcras, passed back the map, and the Guard Captain snorted. “Is this some kind of fucking joke?” Pushing to his feet he walked to the door. “Wait right here.” He left through the door, and slowly Vórëa lowered her hand.

“Well, some people have no manners whatsoever.” Vórëa tucked her hands neatly into her lap, waiting patiently for the man to return. Several minutes passed, and near the door Adrielle was getting antsy. Vórëa was continuing to stare at the tiefling, trying to decide what her relation was to Adrielle. Tyrcras was watching Vórëa, his brows furrowed. Adrielle was playing with her dagger, running the blade along a stone she had pulled from her pocket.

“You might want to start disassociating yourselves from me about now,” drawled Tyrcras, “since I bald-facedly lied about why I wanted to get in here, and I’m fairly certain that the Captain there knows it.”

Just then three men, garbed in mage robes, entered the room. Without saying a word, they raised their hands, and a heavy magic began settling over the room. The tiefling dropped immediately to sleep, and Tyrcras struggled a bit, and then was fine. The three with fey ancestry in their blood turned harsh eyes on the magic wielders. “Elves cannot be put to sleep by magic, and though we may all seem strange to you, we are all elves of a fashion.” Adrielle lost her temper. In a blur of motion she moved, first her dagger flew, then she followed, her scimitar in her hand, green flames trailing in the air demarking its path of motion. Under her assault, the first mage crumpled, dropping to the ground, dead.

Tyrcras jumped up, following the lead set by Adrielle. Pulling his own blade he swung twice, leaving the second mage dead at his feet. Turning to the third he swung once, but went wide, and the mage ran off down the hall. Looking to Adrielle for advice, Vórëa poked her head out the door. “Orar,” her usually soft voice grated in the brutal Deep Speech, and she gestured upwards with her hand. Under the feet of the mage, a ghostly apparition of a skeletal hand shot out, wrapping around his ankle. He stumbled to the ground, writhing in agony as crystals of ice formed around the clasped hand of the skeleton. “I’ve got him, Adrielle. Go get him!”

Needing no more urging, Adrielle dashed forward, driving her scimitar into the back of the mage. Unfortunately, his cries had drawn attention, and the sound of reinforcements could be heard. Tyrcras crouched, readying his blade. Adrielle looked to Vórëa, who smiled softly. “Tarkhal.” Raising both her hands above her head, she spun quickly. Around her, mist began to thicken, spreading quickly into a thick fog. The fog spread ten feet to either side of her, filling up doorways and obscuring the group from sight, as well as the bodies of the mages. Almost floating to the edge of the fog, she heard the sound of the Guard Captain’s voice at the other side, muffled by the fog and distance. Before her were three guards.

Summoning the magic of the Shadowfell from deep within, she used some of her very essence to cast a spell with neither voice nor gesture. In her mind the Deep Speech rumbled. _Pellinta._ One of the soldiers stumbled, blinded. She stepped forwards, hands out and open. “Are you okay?” Shouts and clashing blades could be heard from the other side of the fog, but she was focused on the exit. She moved forward, looking at the other two guards. Again she leashed her magical essence. _Pellinta._ Though she was focused, the guards remained unaffected, turning to look at her and drawing their blades.

Sensing something had gone terribly wrong, Vórëa offered a soft smile that she hoped was reassuring. “Are you okay? Can I render you aid? There seems to be something terrible happening…” As they remained unaffected, approaching her threateningly, she lost her nerve, turning tail and running. They overtook her in the fog, their blades piercing her body like fire. She watched with startled eyes as they drew away, concerned by the lack of blood shed by their mighty blows, but still she fell in a crumpled heap. She felt the soft whisper of the Raven Queen wrap around her as she fought to keep what little spark of life remained within her body, but to no avail. Her spirit, at least, was returning to the Shadowfell. As she drifted away, she turned to see the half-elf’s spectral form joining her, but Adrielle had managed to escape.

Ghostly eyes turned to plead with the Patron of Winter, and she received a small nod of approval. Eagerly she followed ahead, watching her best friend duck and dodge, avoiding the growing group of soldiers pursuing her. Each escape was more daring than the last. Each near miss more dramatic, though Vórëa could barely follow along. Finally, though, Adrielle was cornered. Casting about for an option. Using her people’s gift from the Raven Queen, she appeared on a rooftop, hoping for a greater vantage point. That, however, turned out to be her undoing. Arrows sprouted from her back as archers below took advantage of her new position, and she crumpled. As Adrielle exhaled her last breath, Vórëa dropped down, taking her spectral hand in one of her own. “Come friend. It is time to go home.”

And thus ended the adventures of Two and a Half Elves, before they had even truly began.


End file.
